


Rituals: Nightmares

by brandedwithfire



Series: Rituals [4]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandedwithfire/pseuds/brandedwithfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/></p>
</div>It was only then, in his final hour that green eyes met brown and Nasir saw the regret and sadness that drowned a once bright and powerful soul. Nasir watched as blood stained lips parted to speak but before words could be spoken there was a rush and Nasir was woken from his nightmare, blood thundering in his ears.
            </blockquote>





	Rituals: Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** There is a graphic description of a crucifixion . This is my way of dealing with the possibility of Agron being crixified in Spartacus: War of the Damned.
> 
> As always I want to thank gaygreekgladiator for your encouragement, support and guidance <3
> 
> I would also like to thank Onlymywishfulthinking for the amazing banner <3

It was the same nightmare every time, like images on a loop sent to taunt and press at Nasir until he broke. It always started off the same, a battle, some sort of mission, the details were never quite clear but what was always clear was Agron. Somewhere in the fray they had become separated and Nasir turned in horror to find Agron surrounded by Roman’s. Eight, nine, maybe more, maybe less, Nasir ever had time to count. All he could see was the slash of Agron’s sword as the light of the sun glinted off the blood stained blade. A deep snarl rumbled through his body but it was the eyes that always caught Nasir’s attention; green eyes staring right at him, staring through him. As though Agron knew there was no escape from this. 

Next there was a hand pulling at his shoulders, dragging him away from Agron. Sometimes Nasir thought it was Spartacus, other times it could have been Crixus, or perhaps it was both desperately trying to save Nasir from certain slaughter if he were to go after Agron now. 

After this Nasir was aware of was a crowd. People, hundreds of them talking, laughing, and pointing. At first the Syrian was not quite sure what was going on. He pushed through the mass of sweaty, heated people being bumped and bustled as he worked his way forwards trying in vain attempt to see what had drawn them all here.

It was only when Nasir broke through the wave of people, dusty air once more hitting his face that the realisation of what was about to happen crashed into him like a wave, almost knocking him from his feet.

Romans stood upon a small mound, the delight in their voices carrying over the throngs of commoners. They laughed and jibed, and it was only when they moved that Nasir saw whom their laughter was aimed at. There, beaten, bloodied and bound, knelt Agron, the once fierce warrior brought to his knees in preparation for death. 

Then suddenly the dream became slow, as though time wished to accentuate every detail, every moment emphasized to drive home the true immensity of what Nasir was about to witness. Dark eyes turned to see two heavy planks of wood upon the dirt crossed over one another, dark and looming like death waiting for its victim.

Grabbing Agron under the arms, the Romans dragged him, hauled him to his feet and then threw him like a worthless rag upon the wooden cross. Despite being bloodied and battered Agron was never defeated and with his last strength he fought. For a moment Nasir’s breath caught in his throat at hopes of escape filled his thoughts. 

Agron would never willingly give in without a battle and even here, in his last moments, he was determined not to fall. Nasir watched as the German kicked and struggled, a deep growl filling his body before a string of the vilest curses left his mouth. If it were any other time, any other situation Nasir would have smirked at the foul language that fell from Agron’s lips. But here, now, watching in horror at the scene before him Nasir could do nothing. It was as though his feet were planted within the earth, thick roots grabbing at his flesh, holding him in place. Unable to run forward, unable to move, Nasir was left to watch the as the scene played out before him.

Hands grabbed at Agron, fingers curling around bloodied and dirt stained skin as they forced both of his arms flat against the wood. Agron must have known of the pain which was to come for Nasir watched as he struggled and writhed like a snake about to have its head removed. Thick rope was wound around Agron’s outstretched arms, wrapped around upper arm and wrist to bind him into place. Likewise his legs were bound around ankle and thigh to stop any movement and to bind into position. It was pulled so tightly that the coarse rope cut at flesh but Agron would not give the Roman bastards the satisfaction of knowing the pain it caused. Even in this, his final moments, Nasir knew Agron would never give in.

Then with sickening horror Nasir watched as thick, heavy nails were collected. As they were raised Nasir saw the sun glint off metal before being brought down to flesh. With a laugh the Roman soldier bent down, wooden hammer in one hand, nail in the other as he stood upon Agron’s fingers, forcing his hand open. Then as though time had completely stopped Nasir watched as nail was pressed against skin and with one almighty bang from the hammer it was driven into Agron’s hand. 

Tearing flesh and ripping muscle the nail was driven through Agron’s hand, deeper and deeper until it connected with wood. Pound after agonising pound Nasir was forced to watch as Agron was nailed to the crucifix. 

The moment the nail was driven into Agron’s flesh Nasir heard his lover cry out, a gut wrenching sound that shook him to the very core. But then, with each following blow of the hammer there was nothing, not a sound. Turning dark eyes Nasir watched as Agron bit his lip, white teeth pressed so hard into lip that they drew blood, crimson droplets matching the red liquid that now seeped from nailed wounds. Even now, under such gut wrenching pain Agron refused to give the Roman bastards the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

The next thing Nasir witnessed, with some grunting and huffing, was the great crucifix being lifted. Ropes were used to haul the massive wooden cross bearing one of Spartacus’s generals to its standing position. A moan of pain was heard from Agron but nothing more but the silent horror of his demise. 

A thousand hands pulled at Nasir, tearing at his skin, his muscle, as he tried to surge forward, one last desperate attempt to save the man that held his heart. For all Agron’s faults, for all his flaws Nasir would not have him any other way. They had bonded over words of insult and jests which Nasir had later found out were Agron’s way of showing his affection. That was who the German was, a man who lived his life through his emotions. He loved with all his heart, fought with every muscle in his body and now died open and exposed, stretched out like a picture for all to witness his end.

It was only then, in his final hour that green eyes met brown and Nasir saw the regret and sadness that drowned a once bright and powerful soul. Nasir watched as blood stained lips parted to speak but before words could be spoken there was a rush and Nasir was woken from his nightmare, blood thundering in his ears.

He shot upwards to a sitting position, dark eyes darting around the dimply lit room in search for Agron. For a moment he could not locate his lover but then he saw him, stirring in his sleep upon the bed they shared. 

“Nasir?” Agron mumbled as he blinked, woken from slumber by the sudden start of Nasir. He rubbed the back of a lazy hand over his eyes as they opened into wakefulness.  
For some time the Syrian could not respond, his throat dry, a lump caught that refused to allow any words to pass. His chest rose and fell heavily, beads of sweat clinging to dark hair. It had been so real, he had been there, not in the small room he shared with Agron, but there, upon the dirt watching the brutality play out before him.  
“Was it the nightmare again?” Agron whispered as he laid eyes upon the pale face of his heart. Nasir could only nod, gathering his senses as best he could before running his own shaky hand through his hair. How many times had he had this nightmare? Ten, twenty, thirty? It was always the same every time. Agron was captured, nailed to a cross and there was nothing, not a thing that Nasir could do about it. 

It was after the third or fourth time that he was visited by this nightmare that Nasir finally spoke words with Agron of the images that troubled him. At first Agron, in his jestful way, had only boasted and laughed, trying to comfort Nasir by reassuring him that no Roman bastard could ever capture him. He fought better than Crixus and Spartacus combined and could take down half a legion on his own, he claimed. But both Nasir and Agron knew these words to be full of jest and in truth Agron was just as human, just as vulnerable, as any of them. Every one of them, even Spartacus could fall or be taken in the next battle with the Romans. They were all vulnerable. 

After the eighth or ninth time Agron had changed his tactics and tried to reassure Nasir with sweet kisses to the sensitive skin behind the ear which he knew drove Nasir to madness. He would roam calloused hands across heated skin, edging lower and lower in attempt to distract Nasir from the nightmare that haunted him. Yet Nasir would have none of it, not wanting such affection with after witnessing a horror that had ripped his heart from chest.

Yet after so many visits from the nightmare it was now like a ritual and Agron knew better. Instead of vain attempt at sexual desire or boastful jests he simply reached out and pulled Nasir to him, wrapping strong arms around his lover’s smaller frame and drawing him back to lay upon the bed. For a moment they simply laid together in the candle lit shadows of their small room. For a time Nasir’s heart pounded in his chest but as he drank in the familiar scent of his lover it slowed, returning to the familiar beat that kept him alive. 

Agron planted tender kisses to the thick locks of Nasir’s hair, fingers brushing across sweat stained skin as he pressed his body flush with Nasir’s. Silently trying to reassure and remind Nasir that he was there, all of him was there and that the nightmare had been nothing more than fears coming to life in the depths of sleep.

“I am here,” Agron finally whispered, his voice breaking the silence as he pulled back just enough so that those same green eyes that once were dying now looked down at Nasir, glittering and full of life.

“You were dying,” Nasir whispered as a hand found purchase upon Agron’s bare hip, fingers curling tightly into skin and bone as though in the back of his mind he still worried that Agron may disappear from him at any moment and that his nightmare may come to reality.

Never before had he felt so vulnerable, so open and exposed. Not in the face of battle when he held nothing but spear and blade in hand to protect him from death. Not even when Spartacus and the others had come to his master’s villa and ripped the only life he had ever known right from under his feet. Laying here in the strong embrace of Agron’s arms Nasir was as exposed and yet there was no one else in all the lands that he would trust to be with at such a time. 

“I am not leaving you Nasir. The Romans would have to kill me a thousand times before they could take me from you,” Agron spoke again, his voice louder this time, even more reassuring and determined in his words. Nasir was his heart, the breath that he drew into his lungs and no Roman or their blade could part him from his heart.  
“And even if I were to face death, I would wait for you in Elysium, watching over you until we are reunited.”

Dark eyes looked up into green and a grin curled Nasir’s lips as he felt the weight of the nightmare slowly ebbing away. Agron always had a way of taking the worries from him and pushing them aside. He was a man who always spoke first without thinking and more than often put food into mouth and yet at times, somehow, the perfect thing escaped past those lips. “Watching?” Nasir smirked.

“Watching everything,” Agron could not help himself and he chuckled and then winked playfully, thankful that his little ritual had once more broken the oppressing mood that filled Nasir’s thoughts.

With a laugh Nasir shook his head and laid it upon Agron’s chest, listening to the rhythmic heartbeat of his lover’s life as he felt Agron wrap strong arms tighter around him. Nasir could not help but sigh loudly, one day the gods might be as cruel as to rip Agron from his grasp and give life to his nightmare, but for now they were together, safe and of one heart and in this moment that was all that mattered.


End file.
